


On the Outside

by zilia



Series: Outside/Inside [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Memories, Mental Health Issues, One Shot, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content, Soul Bond, Telepathy, Touch-Starved, Unusual Sexual Situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:09:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10080785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zilia/pseuds/zilia
Summary: Love in a cold climate in the 21st century.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This will be part of a series of connected stories, mostly focusing on Steve and Bucky, but featuring other characters as well.
> 
> A million thanks to claudia_flies, beta extraordinaire!

_Bucky._

_Bucky, shut up._

**_I’m not talking._ **

****Steve sighs at the smart-ass response, the response of bondmates everywhere when confronted with that particular cliché.

 _You_ _know_ _what I mean._

He risks taking his eyes off their target for a couple of seconds to glare at Bucky across the bunker. They’ve been here since mid-morning, lying a safe distance apart and curled like caterpillars into winter survival bags, watching the HYDRA base that’s half a mile away for any sign of life; it’s hard enough putting up with the cold and the boredom without his mate sending him salacious chatter across their bond.

**_I can’t help it. I’m bored, so are you. And I’m freezing my balls off._ **

He can tell from the slightly defensive tone in Bucky’s voice that he hadn’t meant Steve to catch what he’d been thinking; his filtering is getting better, but it’s still not as good as it used to be. The flicker of Bucky’s thoughts sparks a little interest in Steve too, though he tries to dampen it down; this isn’t a good time to be getting distracted.

_What, even in this gear? You should have worn better pants._

In response, Bucky sends him an image of the blue silk panties he'd worn for Steve last week, folded safely in the very back of his underwear drawer, followed by an unmistakable smirk at Steve’s reaction. Steve is a little envious: Bucky’s mental expressions have always been so much better than his own, even now.

**_Just keeping you warm, babydoll._ **

Steve gives Bucky a gentle nudge, nothing that he’ll feel physically, but enough to warn him to stop playing around.

_We need to stay focused._

**_No we don’t. We’re going to be here for_ ** **_hours_ ** **_yet. You know it._ **

_We need to not be fooling around when the target finally emerges._

A pout.

**_You’re no fun._ **

_I’m plenty fun. We had fun last week._

Now Steve sends Bucky an image of his own, a perfect recollection of the orgasm he’d coaxed out of himself at the sight of Bucky a few feet away, dressed in that soft scrap of blue silk, and he feels his mate give a shudder across their bond.

When it comes to it, Steve has a fairly good mental smirk of his own.

**_Yeah, we did._ **

Bucky’s voice is a growl in his head, and it makes the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck prickle. When Bucky uses that tone, it’s impossible for him to concentrate on anything else, and Bucky, sensing victory, bombards him with a series of impressions: fingernails on skin; the way his breath used to hitch as Bucky sank into him; the overpowering scent of sex in their bed after they’d been making love. They’re faint, like copies of copies, but that Bucky remembers them at all means the world to Steve.

_You’re incorrigible._

**_That’s a big word for a pretty mouth, sweetheart._ **

_You’re lucky nobody can hear you. Peggy would have knocked you on your ass for that back in the forties, let alone what would happen to you now._

**_You gonna spank me?_ **

The panties again.

_You know I can’t do that._

**_You could show me?_ **

He stops himself going down that road and keeps it light. _Maybe I’ll just report you to SHIELD and you’ll have to do that twenty-first century sensitivity training again._

Bucky pouts in his head.

 **_Anything_ ** **_but that._ **

_Behave, then._

**_Never._ **

There’s a moment of silence while they both watch the snow.

**_Hey, doll?_ **

_Yes, angel pie?_

Bucky makes a face at him across their connection, but it doesn’t stop him.

**_I can think of some sensitivity training I’d like to do on you._ **

_Oh yeah?_

Bucky sends him an image, letting it drift slowly and gradually into his brain, revealing it slowly like a mental strip-tease: one of Steve’s nipples, hardening to a firm peak as Bucky suckles on it and gently kneads it with his teeth. He can _feel_ the soft suction as Bucky shows him the picture, and it makes him gasp; he raises a hand to his chest before he can stop himself, although he manages, in an impressive display of self-mastery, to keep his head facing their target.

**_I’m thinking, not touching._ **

_You’re impossible._

**_Aww, feeling sensitive, babydoll?_ **

Bucky is still mentally working over his nipples, and Steve can feel it, his body tingling. It always goes straight to his cock whenever Bucky plays with him like this. He can feel himself hardening under the layers of fabric, despite the cold and his reluctance to do this with Bucky out in the open when they’re on SHIELD’s dime.

**_Come on. We’re well into overtime by now. I’m just trying to pass the time a little faster._ **

_That all I am to you, a pastime?_

**_Passed plenty of time without me on your own, didn’t you? If I’d been in the ice with you, I bet it would have been a lot more fun._ **

Steve takes a moment to marvel at how Bucky can joke about this, how he can treat seventy years and waking up without his mate’s voice in his head and everything they had to go through so that he could get it back again so lightly. Then again, joking has always been Bucky’s way of dealing with things that hurt, and that’s certainly come in handy since he came back.

**_Would have warmed you right up, baby. Seventy years uninterrupted and I’d still never get enough of you. Would have found new ways to make you scream every day, new…_ **

There’s a sharp blast of wind, and Bucky’s shiver passes through them across the connection, like a mental stutter.

They both have very good reasons to hate the cold.

**_Shh, darlin’, you’re thinking too loud._ **

There’s a moment’s pause, and then Bucky’s teasing him again, imagining his teeth nipping at Steve’s sensitive pecs. Steve doesn’t know whether it’s the cold making him tremble, or the electricity dancing over the surface of his skin and through his brain. Both, probably.

The feeling of Bucky back in his mind again after such a long time apart is like seeing in colour again after years in the dark. It’s not always perfect: aside from his own problems, there are times when Bucky won’t let him in, won’t share anything with him despite how isolated it makes Steve feel; and there are the times when he does and it’s all Steve can do to stay on his feet, buffeted around by the storms in Bucky’s mindscape, the rage and the fear and the pain and self-disgust all blending together in such a torrent that it’s a miracle he hasn’t shattered apart. Steve does what he can to keep him together, but he can only marvel at Bucky’s strength on his bad days. Because after everything, he’s still here. People call Steve stubborn, but they’ve got nothing on Bucky.

**_Shut up, you fucking sap. I told you, stop thinking. What, you think SHIELD wants you for your brains?_ **

_Be a better distraction then._

**_I thought you didn’t want distracting?_ **

_Maybe I’ve changed my mind._

He hasn’t, not really, and it’s ridiculous trying to convince someone who is _literally in his mind right now_ that he has, but he feels bad for dwelling on the bad times when Bucky’s trying so hard to keep things light.

**_Think we’re going to need to have a word with Fury about not putting the two guys with freezer burn on cold-weather missions in the future. It’s seriously interfering with my ability to mentally fuck you._ **

_I don’t know, I think you’re pretty mentally fucked already._

That stuns Bucky into silence for a moment, and then he’s laughing out loud, a hoarse, rasping chuckle grating through the cold air. It’s unusual for them to speak out loud these days when it’s just the two of them, even more so when they’re fully in each other’s heads, but sometimes Bucky slips, especially when Steve says something he doesn’t expect. The out-loud laugh is short-lived, and then Bucky’s back in his head, still wheezing.

**_You’re such a punk, Rogers. Everyone looks at those baby blues and thinks butter wouldn’t melt in that pretty pink mouth, but I know different._ **

He’s feeling reckless. _Wanna put something else in my mouth?_

Bucky’s surprised; Steve feels it, but he recovers quickly. **_Isn’t that usually my line?_ **

_I’m a quick study. And there you were saying SHIELD doesn’t want me for my smarts._

**_They don’t. They want you for your all-American wholesomeness. And for the way your ass looks in those pants._ **

_Isn’t that a contradiction?_

Bucky gives a quick mental shrug. **_Got me a man who can do both._ **

Steve rolls his eyes and tilts his head back to show Bucky the full extent of his disdain. _I don’t think the modern world was ready for you._

**_Damn straight, babe._ **

They’re quiet for a few minutes; nothing ominous, just a natural lull in the conversation. The silence is broken by the vibration of Steve’s phone in his pocket. He tries to take it out, but his gloves are too bulky to fit in there. After a moment’s struggle, he huffs a frustrated sigh and pulls off his right glove so that he can get to it.

**_If your pants weren’t so tight, you wouldn’t have that problem._ **

_If my pants weren’t this tight, you’d have nothing to look at on the way in and out of the quinjet,_ Steve shoots back, without heat. He looks down at his phone screen and sees a text from Fury.

_Huh._

**_What?_ **

_Change of plan. They’re coming to get us out of here._

**_What? Why?_ **

Steve scrolls through the message, hoping for more info. _Doesn’t say why. Just that there’s a jet on the way to get us._

 **_What, he thinks we can’t handle it?_ ** Bucky starts, half-indignant, and then there’s another blast of wind and he shivers again, radiating discomfort. Before Steve can stop himself, he’s dropped his phone and reached out to touch him, just a hand on his shoulder, a bit of comfort, instinctive despite everything, and his fingertips brush Bucky’s neck.

There’s a second, just one or maybe two, where the contact they both ache for is singing between them, and then he’s out.

He’s used to the feeling now; the first few times, he’d been terrified, but Bruce had explained that traumatic connection breaks and long periods of solitude could make it difficult to maintain a stable simultaneous psychic and physical connection. There’d been studies of bondmates who had been unwilling separated experiencing similar problems, soldiers coming home from war zones, mostly. But nobody had any data on it happening after seventy years apart; Bruce is going to get to write a great paper on that someday, a bonded pair who can’t stand each other’s touch.

Guess they’re both pretty mentally fucked, really.

When the blinding pain recedes and he comes back to himself, he’s relieved that he was lying down to start with; if he’d been sitting or standing, he’d probably have keeled over. Bucky has shuffled away, his hands held up in front of him in a placating gesture, and he’s not in Steve’s head any more. It’s hard not to panic when he finds he’s not there, even though he can _see_ him; for a moment, it’s like waking up in the twenty-first century for the first time with a horrible, yawning chasm where the quiet hum of Bucky’s presence used to be.

He stretches, flails, feels around for Bucky in the darkness, tries not to think of missed catches and falling and the terrible white emptiness of endless snow. _Picture it like a chain you’re making_ , he remembers from the classes in school. _Find your mate’s chain and link them together._ Nowadays they don’t talk about it like a chain, apparently. Too many negative connotations. What is it they say instead? _A hand, reach out for your mate’s hand._ He hates the irony of it, hates that he can’t touch Bucky’s hand for real, hates that missing Bucky’s hand is what got them into this mess in the first place, but he stretches out with his mind, reaches, scrabbles, and after a couple of seconds, Bucky reaches back. Steve gives his head a little shake and he finds Bucky again in his head again, like a loose jigsaw piece dropping back into place. Better.

**_You OK?_ **

_Yeah. Sorry. I couldn’t help it._

**_You’ve got to be patient with yourself, Steve. It’s only been a few months._ **

Steve shakes himself again. _Wish I wasn’t so bad at this. All I want is to be able to touch you, and I…_

 **_Sure, Rogers, try and out-tragedy me._ ** **_Such_ ** **_a drama queen._ **

_Ain’t a competition, Buck. We can both be fuck-ups together._

**_Hey, I can think of something else with ‘fuck’ in it that’s a lot more fun._ **

He appreciates Bucky trying to keep this light when all he wants to do is cry. When Bucky first came back, he’d been wary, unsure of how to talk to Steve in their new dynamic. Even once other signs of the old Bucky had started to return, like his smart mouth and his particularly weird brand of gallows optimism, he had still shied away at any mention of sex. **_I don’t want to make you feel bad, talking like I used to_ ** , he’d said, when Steve had asked why he was so hesitant, and Steve had wanted to punch him. Hearing him flirting again, running his mouth like he always had, was _normal,_ and that was worth more than anything else.

_What did I say before? Incorrigible._

**_Put your glove back on, Stevie._ **

Bucky’s holding out his left hand, palm up. He’s wearing gloves on both hands, despite the metal one not really feeling the cold, because they’ve found that Steve sometimes reacts to the metal hand as though it’s flesh, and it’s better to be on the safe side when they’re alone out here. Steve shoves his hand back into his glove and takes a moment to compose himself, then reaches out and places his hand in Bucky’s. Despite the gloves, there’s a moment of overstimulation again, a feeling like his eyes are adjusting to a sudden change in the light, and then it’s OK. The weight of Bucky’s hand in his is comforting, grounding, and when Bucky squeezes his fingers gently, Steve gives a shiver. It’s all they get these days.

_I wish I could kiss you._

**_Show me how you’d do it, sweetheart._ **

Bucky’s trying so hard not to sound rueful, but Steve can feel it, his longing, his loneliness, and his heart aches. If he’s going to show him, he’s going to make it good. Seeing as they don’t need to watch the base anymore, Steve lets himself close his eyes and concentrate on imagining it. He thinks about cupping Bucky’s jaw with his bare fingers, how his skin would feel, the roughness of his stubble contrasted with the smoothness of his lips. He wants to touch Bucky’s face again, to brush his hair back from his forehead, run his fingers through it where it’s long and tangled before tilting his head to kiss him.

He’d start slow, gentle, brushing his mouth over Bucky’s forehead and cheeks and the bridge of his nose before settling on his lips. He imagines how warm Bucky’s mouth would be, shocking in the cold of their bunker, and he thinks about opening his mouth to Bucky’s kiss, tasting him and feeling the texture of his teeth. He wants Bucky’s tongue in his mouth again, wants his skin under his fingers. Wants to climb into his lap with nothing between them and wrap his legs around Bucky’s waist, lock them together, nip along Bucky’s jaw as he rides him and hear the sounds he’d make as they came together. Wants them to be able to sleep in the same bed again, wake up tangled in each other, so close they can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

He wants, he _wants,_ and his frustration and his desire rise in him like a wave. He holds Bucky’s hand in a death grip, imagining them as they used to be, younger and dumber when everything was so much easier, not old and scared and scarred as they are now. When he’d lie down with Bucky and they’d give each other endless, uncomplicated pleasure and not realise how lucky they were to have through serendipity something they can’t have now even with hard work. Because he had everything he wanted, and he lost it, and now, although by some miracle he has Bucky back, he can’t make it the same.

“Steve!”

He doesn’t realise he’s screaming out loud until he hears Bucky’s anguished voice. When he opens his eyes and looks at him, his face is stricken, and the tears are freezing on his face as fast as he can cry them.

Steve has to look away. He can’t let go of Bucky’s hand, not when it’s all he has, but he relaxes his grip slightly, and brushes away the crystals of ice on his own face.

**_Stevie, I think it’s time to talk to that SHIELD scientist._ **

They met her a few weeks ago. Small, British, and earnest, one of Coulson’s team. Jenny?

**_Jemma. Don’t pretend you don’t remember. We still have her card._ **

_No. Not yet._

**_Steve._ **

_We can make this work, Bucky, I just need some more time. We can keep trying, maybe if we just relax more…._

**_We’ve_ ** **_been_ ** **_trying, but it’s not working. You know it’s not. We can’t do this on our own. Just let her scan our brains like she wants to._ **

_No._

**_Why are you so scared of letting people help you?_ **

_I’m not._

**_Bullshit, you’re not. Bruce. Jemma. Natasha. Tony. They all want to help you. And you won’t let them. What are you so afraid of?_ **

_I’m not afraid._

Bucky’s eye-roll is audible. **_You just don’t want them to think that you’re weak._**

 _I’m_ _not_ _weak._

**_Didn’t say you were, sweetheart. Pretty sure, actually, that the only person who ever thought that is you._ **

Steve sniffs angrily. _That’s not true. All those guys, before I got big..._

**_Oh, like we ever gave a shit about their opinion. You know what I mean._ **

_I just think if we –_ Steve begins, but Bucky interrupts him.

**_Sweetheart, can you honestly tell me you’re happy with the way things are?_ **

Bucky’s words are shaky between them, fast, spilling out like he’s been holding them in for a long time.

**_Because if...if you are, I’ll do it, Steve. Fuck, just getting to see you every day, talk to you, feel you in my head...it’s so much more than I ever deserved. You really want us to spend the rest of our lives like this, rather than admit you’re lost and ask for help? I’ll do it. If you really want that._ **

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Bucky trembling, and he suspects he might be crying again, although he can’t bring himself to look.

 _Bucky,_ _no_ _. You know I don’t feel like that._

**_Then let her try. Let her help us. Please._ **

Bucky tugs on his hand and forces him to meet his eyes. Steve reaches up and cups Bucky’s cheek in his gloved hand, and Bucky gives a deep, shuddering sigh and nuzzles into the touch, eyes closed. He’s seized by a sudden idea, and, throwing caution to the wind, he shuffles over to Bucky, wrapping his arms around him over the survival bag and resting Bucky’s head on his covered chest. He waits, counts seconds in his head, three, four, five. Nothing. No pain.

It’s the closest they’ve been in days; the closest in months without Steve passing out.

**_You’re touching me._ **

Bucky’s tense in his arms and his brain is buzzing with mingled fear and disbelief. They’ve spent such a long time trying to avoid accidentally touching each other that doing it on purpose is the last thing he expected Steve to do.

_Good spot, genius._

Once he realises the sky isn’t going to fall on their heads, thanks to the several inches of insulating fabric between them, Bucky slowly relaxes, letting out a long, controlled breath.

 **_You’re_ ** **_touching_** **_me._ **

_There an echo in here?_

**_Just shut up and spoon me, Rogers. Why didn’t we think of this before?_ **

_We never had this gear before now. Also, I wasn’t totally sure this would work. Remember when we tried with the normal sleeping bags?_

**_Don’t remind me. I guess these are thicker than the regular bags. Maybe that’s the answer? Not exactly a long-term fix, though, unless we move to the Antarctic._ **

They lie for a moment, breathing in tandem. Steve wonders how unreasonable it would be to text Fury and ask him to call off the quinjet, just for an hour or two, so he can keep holding Bucky like this. It’s so peaceful feeling the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest under his hands and the contented hum of his mind that he could almost fall asleep, despite the cold and the hard ground underneath them.

Bucky rolls over in his hold so that they can look at each other’s faces. This close, Steve can see the little lines around his eyes and across his forehead. He wishes he could kiss them. Maybe he’ll be able to, someday.

_What if she tries and there’s nothing she can do?_

**_Then we’re exactly where we started. What if she tries and there_ ** **_is_** **_something she can do?_ **

Steve can’t argue with that logic, and Bucky knows it. He sends Steve a sly grin, pressing his advantage.

**_And if it doesn’t work, we’ll just keep dressing up and playing like we have been. Maybe experiment with full-body condoms, like in that movie._ **

Steve grimaces at the recollection. _Ugh. Can you even buy those?_

**_I don’t think so. But c’mon, imagine Tony’s face if we asked him to invent us some._ **

Steve considers. _That would_ _almost_ _be worth it._

**_He wouldn’t know whether to be horrified that you know what sex is or ask us to film it and stream it on pay-per-view._ **

_Nah, come on, he’s a businessman. He’d go with the money –_

**_Once he got over the shock. And stopped picturing your dick. And got over me punching him in the face for picturing your dick._ **

_– and attempt to corner the market in porn for the tactilely challenged._

**_Sounds like a fairly niche area. Not to mention somewhat exploitative._ **

_How else do you think he got rich? Sure, he_ _says_ _it was weapons, but I bet you it was mostly just through weird fetish porn._

**_Howard would be so proud._ **

They lie in silence for a few moments more, and Steve unashamedly snuggles Bucky close. Bucky makes a happy humming sound and wriggles closer.

**_I’d forgotten how nice you smell._ **

Steve snorts. _Such a charmer. Bet it’s especially great after hours of lying in winter gear._

 **_No, s’nice,_ ** Bucky insists. **_Not the same when it’s just your clothes or your bed._ **

_You sniff my clothes and my bedsheets?!_

**_Yeah._ ** Bucky sounds defensive. **_So what?! Smell’s good for the memory. And you smell really, really good, especially when we’ve been playing._ **

The survival bags are too thick for Bucky to feel Steve’s erection growing at the growl that’s returned to Bucky’s voice, which is a shame, but he tries to compensate by sharing the feeling with Bucky, that hot, hard urgency surging in him, making him rock his hips gently against his mate’s body. Bucky sighs and pushes back, and for a moment they’re grinding together, getting more and more heated, and Steve’s just wondering whether they could chance maybe trying to grip each other through the bags when he hears the _whoosh_ of a quinjet overhead.

**_Oh well. Maybe when we get home?_ **

_Yeah,_ Steve says, a little resigned. He shuffles back from Bucky and starts to get himself out of the bag, legs and back stiff after lying down for so long.

 **_Not the only thing that’s stiff,_ ** Bucky starts, and Steve feels himself flush.

_You know, there are days when I almost miss it being quiet in my head._

Bucky grins. **_Don’t say that, sweetheart._ ** He’s on his feet too, stretching his arms above his head and yawning, and Steve admires the view of Bucky’s long, lithe body. It’s been a few hours since he last saw it, after all.

_I did say almost._

They roll up the bags as the jet lands, and Natasha calls to them through the PA system, apparently not wanting to get out in the cold. The sound is slightly jarring after so much silence.

“OK, guys, home time.”

Natasha opens up the hatch and Steve makes towards it. He’s gone a few paces before he realises Bucky isn’t following, but is standing staring at the bunker, survival bag gripped in one hand.

_Bucky?_

Bucky looks up and smiles at him, his proper smile, and Steve feels his heart catch. He’s still so handsome, despite everything the years have thrown at him. He knows why Bucky wants this moment before they board the jet; Natasha being there will mean they’ll have to retreat from each other’s heads a bit so they can focus on conversation with her and not be rude or exclusive, so it’s understandable that he wants to linger and make the most of the last of their solitude for a while. Bucky lifts his gloved hand to his mouth and kisses his fingers, then holds them out for Steve to touch. Steve does the same, and they share the kiss for a couple of seconds before Natasha shouts.

“Could you hurry up? There’s a draught.”

“OK, OK,” Steve says, and he turns back to make his way into the jet. As he goes, he feels Bucky’s presence in his mind fading slightly, like the dimming of a lightbulb, still there, but less bright. It’s absurd to miss someone you can see, but Steve aches momentarily nevertheless; besides, he stopped trying to rationalise his feelings about Bucky a long time ago.

“You have no sense of romance, Romanova,” Bucky grouses as he follows Steve into the jet, throwing his survival bag onto the floor.

“Yes I do,” Natasha retorts, closing up the hatch behind them. “I just prefer it when it happens in the warm.”

Knowing Natasha’s set-up, Steve is momentarily intrigued, wondering what her sense of romance actually is.

“Hrmph,” Bucky says, interrupting his train of thought before he can even start to formulate a question. “You got anything to eat in here?”

“Try the lockers on the left-hand side,” she says. “Should be some granola bars, if nothing else.”

Bucky goes over to the lockers and starts rummaging, making a triumphant sound when he unearths a box of granola bars and some bottles of water.

“Go talk to Nat, sweetheart,” he tells Steve in an undertone, as he tears open the box to help himself to some of the bars. “I’ll be OK here, and you know it’s easier, if we’re not together. Don’t want to leave her out.”

Steve nods, snagging a bottle of water for himself, and goes to sit in the cockpit. He drops himself into the seat beside Natasha and buckles up, then cracks open his water and takes a long gulp.

“Thanks for coming to get us,” he says, once he’s drunk his fill.

“Anything for my favourite star-crossed lovers,” Natasha says, in a deadpan voice that tells Steve she's holding back from rolling her eyes. Steve reaches across and flicks her ponytail in mock-annoyance, although he’s grateful for the teasing. He would wallow a lot more if it wasn’t for his friends, he knows.

“We miss anything good while we were gone?”

Natasha hums, considering.

“Clint took the new coffee machine for a spin. You know, the one that also makes popcorn.”

This has been a project of Tony’s for some time, and there have been many prototypes. “Did it work?”

“Mostly. The coffee was great, but he forgot to put a bowl underneath the hatch, so he mostly just shot popcorn all over the kitchen. Hit Bruce in the eye with a piece of it. Made life exciting for a few seconds.”

Steve winces. “Any damage?"

“No, he was green for a minute, but he got it under control. The bond’s helping, he thinks.”

That _is_ good news. “Yeah?”

“Early days, but yes, looks like it.”

“Great.” He waits a beat, and then, trying to sound casual, says “hey, was Dr Simmons in the tower when you left?”

He feels the flicker of Bucky’s hope in the back of his mind, and it warms him more than any survival gear ever could.

Natasha eyes him with interest, clearly burning with curiosity – not casual-sounding enough, obviously – but she doesn’t ask. She rarely needs to ask; she generally finds out in the end.

“Yeah, she was up in the labs with Fitz when I left,” she says. “She’s probably still there, I think they’re sticking around for a few days. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wanted to talk to her about something,” Steve says. He can practically hear Natasha’s brain working, and it probably won’t take her long to come to the right conclusion – their condition is hardly a secret, after all – but he can live with that. He hates talking about his feelings with anyone who isn’t Bucky, but at least he doesn’t feel like he has to pretend he doesn’t have them around the rest of his friends any more.

“Coulson and May are visiting too,” Natasha says, gracefully changing the subject. “Tony’s got some plan for drinks tonight, I think, if you guys can make it? And pizza.”

“Maybe we’ll stop by for a bit,” Steve says, although he knows that if they do, it won’t be for long: Coulson’s earnest adulation of them both tends to make Bucky get a bit prickly and murder-glarey. “What’s Coulson doing visiting us, anyway?”

Natasha launches into the explanation, long and complicated and not really interesting, and Steve risks a quick exchange with Bucky.

_Happy?_

He doesn’t have to ask, really; Bucky’s pride and affection is glowing brightly in his mind.

**_Thanks, babydoll._ **

_We’re keeping the bags, though,_ Steve reassures him. _Just in case._

**_‘Course we are, sweetheart. And later tonight, we’re going to find out exactly what we can do with them._ **

There’s his Bucky: resourceful, pragmatic, and wickedly inventive. Steve leans back in his seat, half-listening to Natasha’s story, and lets himself hope for the first time in months.

  
  
  
  



End file.
